


My Boy, It's Dagger

by MajaLi



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Gay Porn Hard, Light Masochism, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4018603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajaLi/pseuds/MajaLi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are days when Jonny is viciously glad he'd traded hockey for wetwork, given up bloodsport in favor of blood. This? This is not one of those days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Boy, It's Dagger

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [demotu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/demotu)'s Gay Porn Hard 2015 (WCF, G6). Hat tip to khasael and esbyrules for the beta, as always <3

"You're an idiot," Jonny hisses as he shoves Patrick in through the moonlit window of their hotel room. "And when they catch us this time, I am going to turn Queen's evidence against you and _I am not going to be sorry._ "

"Uh, we're in California, babe. It's state's evidence." A flipped switch and the room floods with light, making Patrick wince and clap one black-gloved hand over his eyes. In the yellow glow, the red stains on his dress shirt stand out starkly, no longer hidden by the shadow of his black tuxedo jacket. Jonny's jaw clenches as he grabs Patrick's tie and hauls him toward the closet.

"Take that off and get the bleach," he snaps. "I'm taking first shower."

"Nope! Dibs!" Patrick laughs and darts around him; Jonny slams into the bathroom door a split-second too late, and then slams his hand against the wall when he realizes that the bathroom light switch isn't on the outside.

"You're a fucking child!" he shouts instead, because apart from the blood, Patrick isn't even sweaty. Jonny's the one who had to scale four stories of brownstone, both ways, in the middle of July, in _patent leather dress shoes_ , so Patrick could lock the window behind him and slip back to the party downstairs minutes before Jonny "arrived," and hours before anyone would realize one of the guests had never shown up.

There are days, Jonny reflects, as he hauls a half-gallon of bleach out of Patrick's duffel bag. There are days when he is viciously glad he'd traded hockey for wetwork, given up bloodsport in favor of blood. That choice gave him purpose, and Patrick (and several million dollars in cash, gems, and priceless artwork cached around the world). There are days when he can't imagine another life.

This? This is not one of those days. Not with his eyes stinging as he strips down to his briefs and dumps everything in a plastic basin, pouring the bleach over it to soak. Not grimy with adrenaline-sweat because his not-boyfriend sniped the shower and is caterwauling along to –

To – 

" _Shoo-oot him // In the head // And make sure he's good and dead! // I was bold, he'll get over the worst of it // All clear // Thank you dear // Bring your pistol over here // Let me double-tap him just for the hell of it!_ "

" _Patrick!_ " Jonny slams through the bathroom door; he should have realized Patrick wouldn't lock it. Patrick pokes his head around the shower curtain and beams.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you to catch on. You're losing your touch, cute stuff."

It's baiting. Jonny knows it's baiting. And it works every damn time.

"Ow, OW! Not the hands, babe, Jesus!"

Jonny twists Patrick's arm further up his back, presses him harder into the shower wall, and bites down on the tense line of Patrick's trapezius. Patrick howls, and today? That's fantastic.

"Safeword?" Jonny mumbles around his mouthful. Patrick tips his neck back and bumps the curve of his head against the top of Jonny's.

"Nashville."

Jonny frowns and straightens, uses his free hand to tug Patrick's head back even further, so that Jonny can look him in the upside-down eye. "Nashville?"

"Dude, we barely made it out alive. Next job we take down there is gonna be a shitshow. _Nashville._ "

"…right." Jonny untwists Patrick's arm and turns him, bracing his hands against the far wall opposite the spray. He skins out of his boxers, dumps them dripping on the toilet tank. Considers. Patrick's glutes clench as he waits, so Jonny gives them a smack, and gets a groan for his trouble. Digs his fingers into the soft flesh and tense muscle, and that's enough to make Patrick shift on his feet, cock starting to rise and fill between his legs.

Jonny can work with that. He massages Patrick's ass with one hand, squeezing harder when Patrick whines in protest. The other he trails up Patrick's side, pressing against bruised ribs before slipping over to twist at Patrick's nipples, dig his nails in in biting crescents. It never takes much to get Patrick going after a job well done; it's a little sick, but it also gets Jonny laid, so. Complaining would just be ungracious.

"Jon _ny_ , come _on_ ," Patrick complains, right on cue. "Are you fucking me or not?"

"Not," Jonny replies promptly. "I'm going to jerk you off, and then I'm going to fuck in between your asscheeks so I can come all over your hole." He grins when Patrick's knees wobble and Jonny has to catch him, crowding him up against the wall and making good on the first half of his plan.

"Jesus Christ, sweetheart." Patrick rolls his hips, pushing his cock into Jonny's fist, when Jonny lays a line of biting kisses between his shoulder blades. The pet name earns him an extra one, Jonny's teeth digging into the thin skin at the knob of Patrick's spine until his hips stutter and he gasps, smacks a hand against the wet tile, fighting to keep from shouting. Jonny helpfully cups Patrick's jaw in his free hand, sliding two fingers into his mouth to quiet him, and when Patrick comes, it's to the threat of Jonny's fingernails against the underside of his cock, and the press of Jonny's thumb against his slit.

Jonny hooks his chin over Patrick's shoulder, and the sight of Patrick's reddened lips still wrapped around his fingers and the white splatter of Patrick's come on the wall is – is – _impossible._

"Change of plans," he rasps, pushes at Patrick until he gets the hint and goes to his knees, post-coital and pliable with it. Jonny twists his fingers through Patrick's curls and urges him forward. "Lick it up. Wouldn't be nice to leave a mess like that for the poor housekeepers."

Patrick moans and leans forward, tongue laving broad stripes over the tile. Jonny nudges him toward the spots he's missed, a pulse of heat going through him at how easily Patrick complies. He doesn’t keep Patrick at it for too long, though; pulls him back while he's still licking his lips and demands, "Show me."

With Jonny between him and the spray from the showerhead, Patrick doesn't hesitate to tip his head back and open his mouth, showing Jonny the white coat of his own come on his tongue. Jonny presses the head of his cock against the corner of Patrick's mouth, rubbing off against Patrick's lips as he hisses, "I'll never get over how easy you are for that, how much you like it. Yeah, you like eating come? Want me to give you some more? Shoot it all over your face – _fuck_ – "

That's all it takes, Patrick closing his eyes and opening his mouth wider as Jonny follows through on his words. Most of Jonny's come lands in his mouth; he swallows it down, blinks open blissful blue eyes like a fucking angel. It's so wrong, and so very much everything Jonny's ever wanted.

Jonny runs his hand through Patrick's hair one more time and helps him to his feet, lets him lean against the wall while Jonny shuts off the water and wraps him in a towel. They stumble out of the bathroom to the sound of Jonny's work cell vibrating insistently on the nightstand. Patrick goes for it and Jonny lets him, starfishing face down in the center of the bed while Patrick checks the texts and lets out a gleeful whoop.

"Mm?"

"It's from Crow. Next job's lined up."

" _Mm?_ "

"Sweet home Chicago, baby." Patrick holds out a fist, bumps Jonny in the head with it until Jonny gives up and grins up at him, bumps him back.

"Time to even the score."


End file.
